


Bluebeard

by attolia



Category: Smallville
Genre: Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen, Spoilers through Covenant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-04
Updated: 2017-02-04
Packaged: 2018-09-21 22:09:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9568883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/attolia/pseuds/attolia
Summary: Behind closed doors





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm copying my (very few, very short) fics over from Live Journal. This was originally written for [aelora's](http://aelora.livejournal.com/) fairy tale challenge.

The manor stood neglected at the end of the long drive. The grounds were carelessly groomed. Grass trailed over the edges of the walkways and ivy clung to the walls. The shrubbery was roughly trimmed and oddly shaped. Inside, dust shimmered in the light streaming through the stained glass windows and coated the tables and floors. Cloth draped pieces of furniture stood about like so many lumpy ghosts. Grasping the heavy ring of keys, she walked the long hallways, surveyed the large rooms, and made a list of the work to be done. She had barely three days to prepare the house for its master's return.

They called him cold because of his manner, blue blood because of his lineage, blue beard even, the last a joke for he had none, nor any hair at all save lashes and brows. His skin was pale and the blue veins beneath its surface gave it a greyish-purple cast reminiscent of clouds before a storm. His heart was cold, what was left of it. He had married at least twice, but his wives had each vanished within months of their nuptials, never to be seen or mentioned again. He had traveled for years, searching for something unknown. There had been long periods with no word of him at all. Then, after years of silence, she received the message: prepare the house. He was coming home.

They whispered about him in the village where she bought food and supplies, wondering why he left and why she was there. "If she can find his heart, she'll have his fortune." They cackled at the impossibility. She had indeed sought his heart in the days when her whole family served his, but now, of course, she set her sights lower. She would be a familiar face and a kind ear. Her name was friend, after all, in another land. She would show herself in the loving care with which she prepared his home.

She could have brought the staff with her to help, but she wanted the house to herself. She meticulously cleaned every room, pausing in her work only to cherish the memories each place held. It was on the third floor of the east wing that she found it. There were footprints in the dust, not too recent, but clear nonetheless. They led to -and from- a door. It was locked and none of her keys would open it, so she let it be. But her thoughts kept returning to it as she worked.

She saved her master's room for last, so she could give it the intimate care it deserved. She made the bed without dwelling too long on its use and placed a vase of red roses on the bedside table. She caught sight of herself in the full length mirror and almost laughed. "How will he see me now?" she wondered. She leaned against the mirror, hands on the glass in a holy palmer's kiss. "Could he love me yet?" She sighed and continued her work. 

She found it on the bureau where, again, the dust had been disturbed. She was cleaning a heavy metal box when its lid fell open and out fell not cuff links, but a key. She picked it up and started for the door, then remembered her plan. She would be his friend, his confidant. He must be able to trust her. She put the key back and gathered her supplies. 

She was done. The whole house was ready. The rest of the staff would arrive soon, as would he and she'd have no chance left to use the key. She needed to know everything, to truly be his friend. She retrieved the key rushed to the East wing.

The key turned smoothly in the lock and the door opened without a creak. The room, or its contents at least, were well lit, so she stepped inside, letting the door latch soundlessly behind her. As she surveyed the room a cry escaped her and she fell back against the door. Tokens, specimens, remembrances! Portraits! She knew what this room was, knew what it meant. She had found her master's heart, indeed. But it was forever lost to her. 

 

He arrived a day early with his prize. Finally, after years of searching, bargaining, and threatening, it was his. His enemy had stretched out his long neck far enough that somebody had cut it off and now the old man's goods were forfeit. 

He unpacked the treasure onto a felt covered table, examining each piece at length to determine its value, to see if it could provide at least part of the answer he sought. While valuable in its own right, most of the collection was eventually tossed aside as useless to him. He worked for hours, so intent that the newly arrived staff were as good as invisible to him as they filled their places, and any inquiries, such as after a missing sister, were ignored.

He found the key in a small silver box, one of the last few items to inspect. He teased the catch until it surrendered and the box opened to reveal an octagonal piece of metal. He froze, for a moment, unbelieving, then stood and held it up into the light, staring at the symbols he had memorized long ago. When he finally moved, it was to leave the house directly, the key clutched in his hand, all else left behind.

The path to the cave was overgrown with wildflowers and weeds, but he knew the way by heart. The cave itself was empty. Gone were the scientists and scholars who had forsaken their study of the glyphs sketched on the walls. Gone, too, were their equipment and lights. Muted rays through the crack in the rocks above provided only scant illumination. 

While his eyes adjusted to the dimness, he felt his way along the walls. The ten men should be there, and there the brothers entwined. He found the depression by touch alone, traced his fingers along the sharp edge and blew away the dust. He held the key up to the slot and, with the barest hesitation, pressed it home.

The light was blinding and the rush of air sounded like a multitude of voices hissing in alarm. He closed his eyes and reached out to touch the wall, stumbling through the space where it had been. He tripped over something and opened his eyes to see a body on the ground, curled up into itself. He dropped to his knees beside the still form and gathered it into his arms. Brushing the long hair aside, he kissed. First forehead, then cheeks and lips, growing more and more insistent, demanding a response. The body stirred, eyes opened, and a soft voice said "Lex, you are here."


End file.
